Beautiful Slave
by MerndaSaysDownWithWormtail
Summary: The war is over, Harry and Ron are dead. Can things get any worse for Hermione? Put simply, yes. DracoxHermione.
1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue:**_ "_NO! HARRY!" Hermione screamed as she was seen plummeting to the ground beside Harry's limp body. "Harry…please no…HARRY!" Tears ran uncontrollably down her cheeks as she shook his dead body. She lowered her head and cried into his chest. "Why? Why Harry? Good shall always prevail…good shall always prevail…" her voice faded into the cold breeze. As if the pain of Harry dying was not enough, the now lifeless body of Ronald Weasley fell beside her. Her noisy sobbing subdued into silent tears as she made her way to the body of her other best friend. Shock would have overwhelmed any 16-year-old girl who had lost her two best friends, as it did Hermione. She too fell to the ground, unable to handle the horrifying events, but not in death, just unconsciousness._

The war began lightly, with little causalities and bloodshed, but as it pursued the fighting became intense. More and more lives were lost everyday. Mere months into the war he had fallen. After 16 years and 6 attempted murders. Voldemort had triumphed; Harry Potter was dead.

For unknown reasons the centaurs and giants sided with the Dark and astonishingly brought down the Light. The Dark side had a slight advantage. Apart from their surprising lack of moral, they were more powerful and had more 'beings' fighting for them. The Light side had unexpectedly few fighters; most wizards had chosen to stay neutral or at least not get involved in combat.

The muggleborns were facing terrible reprimands. The luckier of them were being sold on Knockturn Alley to purebloods as slaves; Hermione was one of the lucky ones. She was placed in a small cell that smelled of rotting rat carcasses. The floor she slept on was no more than cold, damp concrete and the little they fed her was enough to make someone in 'normal circumstances' vomit.

Her worst memory, the time when she lost the two things she had left in life, when her two best friends had died, played over and over in her head. She had fitful nights, reliving in her mind her mile walk through the battlefield of the mangled bodies of her friends, enemies, classmates and teachers with the dark hooded figures to await her doom. Her now insufferable life is thought impossible to get worse, right? Well, you are proved wrong. She is destined to be bought by a pureblood wizard. When she awoke, or rather chose to give up on sleep, she was not aware of what she was to face that day.

Hermione sat in a corner of her small cell, rocking slowly back and forth like a mad man. She listened closely as she heard someone open the door to the 'prison' she stayed in. The hatefilled voices seemed vaguely familiar, though she couldn't place a face or name. She sat searching of a name to match the voice and all came flooding back into her memory when she saw the sunlight from the small window reflect off the pale blonde head of Draco Malfoy.

She cowered from his view, covering her face ashamed to be seen in her current state...sitting in a small room behind bars like a criminal. Draco sniggered, "So, Granger, finally got your nose out of the air?" She raised her head and gave him a saddening stare that made him snicker even more. "Father, come have a look at this! It's Granger!" Lucius strode over with a terrifying grin. "So, how about it, Draco?" He gave his father a puzzled look, and Lucius rolled his eyes slightly while saying, "You want it?"

Hermione gasped inaudibly at being called an 'it'. And then what Lucius had just said registered in her head. She stared at the scene wide-eyed as Draco said, "Why thank you Father, I would fancy a _slave"_ he stressed the word slave and smirked at Hermione. A scrawny dirty man stepped out from behind the two with very intricate looking skeleton key. He unlocked the door with shaky hands and with an unexpectedly strong grip raised Hermione off the floor by her upper arm.

He yanked her roughly toward the counter at the end of the narrow isle in which the small cells lined. She was pushed down onto the counter so her chest was squished against the polished surface. He lifted up the bottom of her shirt and looked at Mr. Malfoy waiting for assurance, Lucius gave a simple nod and the skinny man took out his wand and muttered a short incantation that burned a four-digit barcode on the small of her back.

She whimpered and was pulled up by her hair and shoved into Draco's chest. He pushed her away and brushed off his front like somebody had just thrown something repulsive at him, Hermione looked slightly hurt but then reminded herself that she truly _was_ nothing better than filth. The days in her small cell made her mad with self-disgust, she really wasn't worth anything. What has she done for anyone, really? She was just a know-it-all, good for nothing; she deserved what she was getting.

Her thoughts were disrupted by strong hand pushing her out the door. She followed silently behind Draco through Knockturn Alley into a tapered alleyway. Hermione and Draco watched as Lucius gloved his hands and then picked an empty soda bottle, tapped his wand to it and gestured for them to move forward. They each laid a hand on the bottle and seconds later appeared in front of the Malfoy Manor. It was a beautiful home, the most brilliant white Hermione had ever seen. The lawn was perfectly kept snd there was a bright flowerbed to her right. She followed the two men forward into the house and was faced with an even more astounding sight. It was not the dark place she would have imagined it to be, there was no electricity but it seemed to have been magicked into brightness.

They entered a large kitchen to see a beautiful woman sitting at a table sipping tea and reading a book. "Morning Narcissa" Lucius said with little enthusiasm. She looked up quickly and smiled coldly at him. "Who's this you've returned with?" she inquired, sounding frustrated. Lucius looked disgustedly at Hermione and replied, "A mudblood we picked up in Knockturn Alley." He turned his attention to his son, "Draco show it to where it will be staying." Narcissa's glance traveled from Lucius to Hermione and with a roll of her eyes she went back to reading her book.

Draco turned on his heels and began up the staircase without glimpsing back at Hermione. She was unsure of whether to follow him or not, but did anyway. When they reached the top of the staircase Draco took a sharp right turn and walked through a doorway into a room decked out with green and silver. There was a king size bed, a big armchair, and lots of books! Hermione was surprised to see so many bookshelves; she had never thought Draco to be one to read. Her eyes slowly moved around the room and stopped on Draco. He was bent over pulling his schoolbooks and broom out of his closet and throwing them aside. He walked over to the chair and took the velvet throw that was slung over the arm and put it in the closet. Then he walked over to his bed and pulled off several pillows, as he had more than enough, and threw them in the closet also. "You can stay there," he said simply before walking out the door. Hermione looked at the closet and wondered why, in a HUGE manor, she would have to stay in Draco's closet...there must be ten guestrooms here. And then she recalled Kreature and the cupboard he slept in; they weren't worthy of sleeping in a bed.

Draco walked back in a few minutes later and tossed some clothes at Hermione, "Get changed, we don't need you sporting Potter blood." Hermione looked down at her robes, seeing a mix of Harry, Ron, and her own blood splattered over the front. She smiled weakly but genuinely and said, "Thank You." He gave her a sickened look, told her to clean off his bookshelves after she got dressed and left through the door without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** An update on a story I posted, what?, a year ago?? I didn't really know what direction I wanted to take this in and I'm still not too sure but some recent reviews have made me decide to update. Please review and tell me if I should bother to continue or not. Thank you for your time. (Also, I obviously do not own anything Harry Potter. I'm not even .00000896 as cool as J.K.Rowling.)

Hermione pulled her torn pants down over her pointy and now overly protruding hipbones. She looked down at herself and examined the cuts and scrapes that had not completely healed yet, the dirt that covered her skin, and the circle of cauterized skin that the dementors had burned on the inside of her right hipbone. She thought back to her muggle studies and to the Nazis: apparently the wizarding world had learned nothing from it. A tear ran down her face as she wondered about the life ahead of her.

She peeked around the doorway of the closet, decided she was safe, and walked over to the large mirror near Draco's wardrobe. She gazed at herself blankly for a minute, and then began to cry more. She looked horrendous. She was even dirtier than she thought and at least 15 pounds lighter. She turned slightly, and looked over her shoulder to see the code that was imprinted on her back. "Six nine four two," she whispered to no one in particular.

"On second thought…" Draco enunciated loudly. Hermione, not forgetting she was half naked, turned around to look at the door red faced and extremely embarrassed. It didn't seem to bother Draco, "…you're _disgusting_… even more so than usual, I mean. You're taking a shower."

Draco roughly grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the room. Still embarrassed, Hermione hung her head, closed her eyes and held the loose cloth of her shirt in her fist at her stomach. She hoped that it would all go away; perhaps she had finally gotten some sleep in that place and this was all just a dream.

"Please…" she whispered.

"Be quiet!" The reality came rushing back into her just as the heat rushed out of her. She let out a small whimper as her shoulder and head hit a wall and icy water hit her face. She moved to a kneeling position, keeping her head bowed and her eyes closed. She opened one eye and stared at the filthy water that was running off her onto the beautiful white marble.

"Here's a towel," Draco said as a towel flopped onto the ground next to the bathtub, "you should be able to find your way back to my room when you finish." He smiled teasingly as he shut the door.

Hermione rubbed the dried blood from a gash in her leg off her bony knee. She dug her nails into her flesh and slowly brought her hand toward herself. Her hand flew up behind her head just as quickly as she realized what she was doing. Her grew short of breath and started to heave and tear. She had never felt so lost or confused in her life. She had no idea how she felt or how she was supposed to feel and she was extremely frustrated.

Her fingers began to numb and she realized she could not stay under the cold water too much longer. She gingerly pulled off the rest of her clothes and set them in the sink right outside the bathtub.

She finished, shut off the water, wrapped the towel around herself and wrung out her wet clothes. With her clothes in her left hand and her right hand combing through her hair, she left the bathroom. The bathroom was at the end of a hall, which made her first decision easy; left. She walked down the hallway cautiously, pausing every few seconds, almost like a bride on her wedding day only much less glamorous. When she reached the end of that hallway, she followed her instinct and turned left again which brought her right to her desired destination.

She squinted into the light that cast a line that crept through the darkness surrounding her. She saw Draco lying on his bed and jumped back slightly as if she were afraid. She was mulling over the best way to go about announcing her presence when a voice broke her thought pattern, "come in, stupid." She slowly opened the door not making eye contact with him for more than a second and made her way to her closet.

She hung her wet things on the bar just above her head and grabbed the clothes Draco had given her to change into. Very strategically, she slipped on the t-shirt and sweatpants and folded the towel in half and laid it on the floor under her wet clothes, in the case they drip.

She left the closet and, with out glancing at Draco, started to pull the books of the shelves. She could feel his gaze burning through the back of her skull. She worked nervously and very clumsily. She piled the books three or four high around her making a half circle with the bookshelves. She used the excess cloth of her shirt to wipe the dust off the now empty shelves and then turned to look at Draco, hoping for some sort of direction. He was bent over the edge of his bed, getting something from under it. A moment later, he surfaced with a flask in hand. He looked at her disgustedly and she could feel her hands start to quiver.

"Alphabetical order," he demanded, "by author."

She nodded daintily and knelt down in front of the heaped books. She ran her fingers across the spines while whispering the names to herself. "Byington…Kiegwin…Wickham…Amherst…" She took the last out and held in her lap. She collected all of the As, dusted them, set them in order on the shelf, moved on to the Bs and so on. After about 45 minutes and a shirt full of dust, she had finished. She turned around, truly satisfied, and saw Draco stepping unsteadily toward her.

"Isn't it _amazing_?" He threw his hands up as if he had just discovered something profound, "how something, so simple, can make you feel _so_…_much_…_better._" He said the last three words through gritted teeth while poking Hermione in the shoulder quite brutishly. "I've been waiting _so_ long to have you alone. I have fantasized about all the horrible things I could do to you." He straightened his posture, popped out his chest, smiled wildly and threw back his head.

He moved his head back down and his eyes met hers. "You and your friends: everybody loved you…" with each word he inched closer and closer to her. "…I saw right through you. You were no better than anyone else in that wretched place…," he put his palm on the small of her back and continued to move closer. "…Godly _Potter_, and his side kicks Weasel and the Know-It-All." By this time Hermione was crying, she arched her back to distance her face from his only succeeding in pressing their bodies closer together. " You guys caused more trouble than you did good. If you think about it, _none_ of this would have happened if it weren't for Potter...yet he was adored." He moved his face in closer to hers, spitting slightly; she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "But you know what?" He moved closer. "I…," even closer, "absolutely…," his lips grazed hers, "_hated_…," he breathed into her mouth, "you." He pushed her into the bookshelf behind her and she sunk to the floor, sobbing and bruised with her arms covering her face.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco turned and made his way back to his exceptionally large bed. Hermione, after watching him return through the small gap in between her two arms that covered her face, moved cautiously on all fours to her closet. She positioned her pillows into a makeshift chair and sat herself on it. She then pulled a blanket and an extra pillow onto her lap and hugged them close to her. A myriad of thoughts ran through her mind at speeds she couldn't comprehend; chaos engulfed her.

"_Pft_," she scoffed at how no more than a half year ago her life was bordering perfect and now she was curled in a corner of Draco Malfoy's closet with no hope for freedom. Just as she moved to bury her face in her upper arm, a shadow cast itself over her. She looked up to see what was blocking the light source when her eyes, once again, fell upon nothing other than the pale blonde head of the Malfoy son. Before anything could register, he harshly grabbed her wrist and piloted her out of his room.

"I figure if I expect you to do anything for me, you should know your way around." Draco said, answering Hermione's fear filled curiosities. "This is the hallway, quite obviously…and all of these," he continued as he pointed to the many doors that patterned themselves on the walls, "…are guest bedrooms. At the end of this and around the corner, there is a closet with nothing of any importance in it and the bathroom, which I'm sure you remember." He turned her around quickly as his grasp on her wrist tightened. She winced in pain but he paid no attention. He pressed on and led her down the staircase that emptied its users into the kitchen. Lucius came into view as they reached the bottom few steps and Draco instantly released Hermione's wrist. She examined the black and blue bracelet he'd left there and followed after him. "The kitchen...my mother, Narcissus, whom you may address as Missus...and my father, whom you may address as Sir…"

Hermione noticed he did not make eye contact with either parent and walked through the doorway rather uncomfortably. She lingered for a moment and then briskly stepped after him. "This is the parlor. These are made with the finest silk in the world, we ordered them specially from China." He added motioning toward the three beautiful sofas that were sitting against the three windowless walls. "…of course you will never be able to indulge in their luxury, we only allow those worthy of their comfort to use them." Hermione pulled the finger that was running itself along the arm of the sofa off at once. "Here…" Draco called from the other side of the wall "…is the dining room." Hermione caught up and basked in the extravagance of the room; a cathedral ceiling, mahogany table and chairs that were polished to perfection, a beautiful chandelier larger than her and wonderful paintings and weaponry. There was one door and two archways that allowed its visitors to exit. The archway on the north end led back into the kitchen, the archway on the east wall led up a staircase and the door that was behind Draco was closed.

"That staircase takes you up to my mother and father's rooms and bathrooms. I doubt you'll ever need to acknowledge the fact those rooms exist again." He opened the door behind him and backed away, implying Hermione was to go through first. "This…is the dungeon." He laughed half-heartedly while closing the door behind the two of them. Hermione attempted to descend the stairs but was not having much luck; everything was completely black. She heard the rustling of fabric and turned just in time to be blinded by the light that was now protruding from the end of Draco's wand.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she could see a few barred cells, a stretching machine, and shackles hanging from a plank of wood nailed to one of the stone walls. Draco pushed past her toward the shackles and gestured her to come closer. She tiptoed over to him extremely gingerly, hoping if she made herself look pathetic he wouldn't want to keep her there too long. "Come on" he almost cooed. He took a hold of her arms, pulled them above her head and closed the shackles around them.

Draco stepped back and looked at her analytically, somewhat like an artist admiring his newly finished work. He grinned a malicious grin that was wiped off his face before it could reach it's full potential.

"DRACO!" Lucius' voice boomed down the stairs that flowed into the underground floor. Draco's eyes widened and he ran to answer to his father. Hermione could not make out the conversation: they were too far away and their voices were muffled. The door closed and she was stuck in the black, thick nothingness that surrounded her. She struggled slightly against her restraints but could not find the energy to make any proper effort.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I don't mean to sound like a self-centered, narcissistic freak but reviews do help. :) They're great motivation! Thank you to those who've favorited and reviewed.**

Hermione chuckled, completely unamused, thinking about how ridiculous it was that she was caught in such a situation. It was beyond surreal. Time, since the war had started, seemed to go by so fast that one could not savor its essence. As bad as the near-past events were, one had little time to dwell on them; they were almost immediately chased out of mind by an equally as appalling event. Just as soon as one you loved died, another tumbled to your feet. And just as soon has Hermione was able to get settled into her little prison cell, she was purchased by her nemesis. How long was she going to need to endure Malfoy residence? Would something new and terrible claw its way into her life and rip her away from the Malfoys?

The shackles were beginning to make her shoulders ache; the position was very uncomfortable. She bit her lip and attempted to change the angle of her arms. _Thump._ She halted the epic battle occurring between her and her constraints. The loud noise above her sounded like something human. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what room would be directly atop her head: the sitting room? Not that the newly gained knowledge would be of any assistance to her. She disregarded any previous thoughts and continued with her inadequate hostilities toward the shackles until she heard the door to the dungeon open and saw a small amount of light flood in.

A conquered and ashamed looking Draco appeared in front of her. After the initial look over, Hermione kept her head hung low staring at her bare feet hoping to not further displease her new ascendant. She grew fearful as she could feel his presence move closer and closer. He put a hand on her chin and pulled her face up match his own. His expression had changed and was now unmistakably angry. He let go of her head and backhanded her before gravity could kick in, sending her head flying to her left shoulder. It wasn't so much that his strike packed power, more of the element of surprise. Draco actually seemed strangely weak, kind of shaky. He kneed Hermione in the stomach, again with little force. It was painful, nonetheless, but she had expected more from him.

He released the shackles and pushed her to the ground toward the bottom of the stairs. He made to kick her, but missed and covered his mistake quickly by pulling her up by her hair. She climbed the stairs and pushed her way through the door at the top. Draco emerged with his proud posture retained but the distress was apparent in his features. A rather large thumb-shaped bruise was darkening over his Adam's apple.

He walked straight over Hermione and through the archway that led directly into the kitchen. Hermione mindlessly followed.

"Draco, dear…" his mother enunciated coolly, "…it would be in your best interest to smarten up and behave as you are expected to." Draco still made no eye contact with his mother, just a curt and submissive nod, "yes, mother." His mother made no attempt at eye contact either, her eyes rested upon the book she seemed to be constantly reading. Draco made his way through the kitchen, up the staircase and into his room whilst Hermione silently trailed after.

She plopped herself onto her 'chair' keeping her eyes on Draco the entire time. He sat himself in his emerald armchair, covered himself with a pillow protectively and furrowed his brows with a petty coveting to suppress murderous rage…or tears. Just as ease had fixed itself in the room, the sound of footsteps could be heard advancing the staircase. Draco leaped out of his chair and closed the door to Hermione's closet unsuccessfully before his father infiltrated his room. Hermione repositioned herself to better see out of the crack in the door that Draco failed to close.

His father had him pressed agianst a wall, towering over him. Lucius was speaking softly, but his words were filled with loathing and malevolence. Draco did nothing but agree and nod throughout his entire chastening. His father's staff was slammed into his temple just before he abruptly exited the room. Draco slid down the wall holding a hand to his head as ruby liquid flooded through the cracks between his fingers.

Hermione could not help but feel a pin-like discomfort in her stomach for the evil boy she now understood was powerless. She too, laid her back against the wall behind her as her door was slammed shut. She let curiosity get the best of her and listened intently. A sharp crack was heard followed by a "fuck" muttered from the mouth of the youngest Malfoy. She guessed it was a blow to the mirror she had looked in a few hours earlier. After that, nearly everything was silent; some rustling of sheets and a few moans, but nothing more. She closed her eyes and, for the first time in weeks, slept.

She woke the next morning due to the smell of warm carbohydrates sitting dangerously close to her face. She winked open one eye to see a thick piece of toast with strawberry jam that was placed enticingly; directly in front of her. Her eyes opened wide and excitedly. Draco, who was standing above her, free of any wounds, bruises or anxiety, took a bite out of his own toast and said through a full mouth, "Feast away, mudblood."

She sat up and ate her toast slowly. Midway through, she looked up at Draco who was now sitting on the end of his bed, gazing out the window, and said, "Thanks." He turned to her and responded with a "four." She looked at him quizzically and he elaborated, "That's a total of four words you've said to me since you've arrived." She dropped her gaze and picked at her toast while he continued to watch her. "Let's converse."


	5. Chapter 5

Draco waved his hand instructing Hermione to come sit in front of him on the floor. She obeyed and stared at him patiently.

"Now Granger, don't let this go to your head. I'm bored and I am simply using you as a tool for my entertainment. Don't sicken me by thinking any more of it." She nodded understandingly. "First off, I need to lay down a few rules. One: You must not address me or speak to me in any way that could be seen as disrespectful." Hermione nodded again, "Yes, Master." Draco let out a low laugh and mumbled something under his breath. "Two: I would prefer if you did not speak unless spoken to. Three: Do not bother my mother or father under _any_ circumstances. They will _not_ be happy." The pin-like discomfort returned to Hermione's stomach as she played out a little scene in her head: Lucius propelling metal objects across the room, screaming about things relating to 'keeping pets in line'. "Four: Do as I say…and Five: Do _not_ lie to me," he cleared his throat. "So Muddy, how's life without your other two thirds?"

She shot him a hurt look and replied, "Hell." Draco raised his eyebrows, "tsk tsk tsk, my little pet. You have a lot to learn. I should think you would be grateful to have such a nice place to stay and such a fantastic host." Hermione mock-smiled at him and said, "Of course, Master. I was referring only to the absence of my two friends, not to any lack of hospitality on your part." Her addressee once again looked at her with a cocked eyebrow, "Are you being wise?"

Hermione looked at him blankly, "No, sir. Only attempting to fulfill my duties to entertain you."

Draco stood up from his bed, paced, and said, "good…" he hesitated before adding, "Tell me, Granger…what is your favorite book?" She was taken aback by such an innocent seeming question, but answered truthfully, "Hogwarts: A History". "Eh!!…" Draco spat disgustedly, "…why!?" His pacing had brought him behind her so Hermione saw no harm in rolling her eyes. "Because it is concrete, factual, and untainted." Draco scoffed and threw his arms up, "That's exactly what makes it _uninteresting_! My, my…for someone deemed 'intelligent', you have _horrible_ taste. Come on, let's go outside…you can carry my quidditch equipment."

Hermione stayed put until she felt a broomstick hit her square in the back. She yelped and jumped up just in time to save her self from the other items being thrown at her. Draco left the room without a word and Hermione quickly filled her arms and followed. She reached the bottom of the stairs and caught a glimpse of Draco's pale head exiting through the French doors that led out to the lawn from the kitchen. She limped after him as fast as she could; the ridiculous amount of equipment she was carrying did not make it easy for her to walk. His long legs stretched over the grass effortlessly which made following him even more of a task. He disappeared behind a line of pine tress that Hermione reached minutes later. Just as she ducked under a branch, she could feel things being torn out of her arms. "Merlin, you're slow."

She placed the rest of the things on the dewy grass and did a full 360, admiring the beauty of the weather and scenery. The pine trees were a gorgeous, deep green, the grass was vibrant and lively, the sky was a perfect blue and cloudless and the water that trickled in the stream on the other end of the field reflected the sunlight to make it look as if it were sparkling. There were beautiful red flowers, a few pure white birds, a cobblestone path and…Draco. His white shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest and his sleeves were pulled up past his elbows revealing…blank skin. Hermione was shocked not to see the Dark Mark tattooed onto an arm. The boy seemed to read her thoughts. "Surprised?" Draco said, caressing his forearm. "Don't be. I just haven't had the chance to do what I need to." He mounted his broom, but stayed close to the ground. He was making his way to fly behind Hermione and continued to explain himself. "Perhaps you can even help me out…" Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye as he completely left her view. "Just a little…swipe of a blade." His voice came behind her just as a hand pulled itself imitatively across her neck.

She was pushed to the ground as he raised himself into the air. Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and watched him fly around freely. She let herself fall victim to the allure of her surroundings but was forced out of it just as quickly as she had fallen in. Draco was flying straight for her comfortable place in the grass. She hopped up and waited for a reprimand. "Hey Granger," Draco yelled snottily from a few meters away. "Why don't you make some use of yourself? Pick up all the sticks and leaves in the field." He flew away before she could make any reply.

Hermione began to walk the perimeter of the field deciding to work from the outside in, picking up small branches, pinecones, and leaves that had blown, she guessed, from the forest on the other side of the glistening stream. She allowed herself to get lost in thought again; pondering over whether Malfoy was sincere in his threat or not, if she would ever need to encounter a Death Eater meeting, if Draco's father made a habit out of the things she witnessed, if Narcissa let it slide, if the white bird circling above her head was being playful or actually waiting for her to parish so it could eat her, and just as she finished, where did Draco wander off to? Nearing the end of her assignment, the sticks were becoming harder and harder to hold. It seemed as though each time she bent over to pick something up, three more things would fall out of her arms. When she finally held everything tightly in her hands, she squinted around her to look for massive sunbeam that would bounce off the white hair of her master.

She found him sitting on a rock, pants rolled up, feet in the water of the stream and with a small white bird in his lap. He was whispering things to it as he stroked its head with the hand that was not holding its body to his stomach. Hermione made her way over quietly, marveling at how abnormally angelic he looked. At about two meters away, she revealed herself, "Ahem. Master Malfoy, sir?" He set the bird down on the ground next to him and it immediately flew away. Draco looked at her expectantly. "What would you like me to do with all of these?" She said moving her eyes and head downward, indicating she meant the sticks in her hands. He looked around briefly, then laid his head back on his hands in the grass with closed eyes. "Just dump them in the stream."

Hermione did as she was told and turned on her heel to face the sunbather. She placed her hands behind her back and cleared her throat to get his attention. Draco winked an eye open and looked at her, "hmm?"

"Is there anything else, sir?" Draco closed his eye again and shook his head negatively. "Go walk around or something, just leave me alone."

Hermione walked off hurriedly and delightedly to enjoy the sunlight.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione lay back in the grass poking at the little clouds in the sky above her head. A small smile placed itself on her face. It had been a week or so since she'd come to the Malfoy Manor and, although she could raffle off about ten thousand places she'd rather be at any given moment, this was the happiest she'd been in months. She didn't really mind the artificial respectful manner she had to put on for Draco, it was nothing compared to what she had suffered through…a small price to pay for a warm closet and some bread with jam in the mornings. They were definitely things she could've seen herself looking down upon a year ago but now they were wonderful and nothing to be taken advantage of. The fresh air Draco was insistent on getting plenty of each day contributed to most of her happiness. He'd have her do off tasks for him that only endured an hour or just over and after that, she was instructed to leave him alone until the sun hit the top of the hill in the west. During these times, Hermione would wander around the Manor property, lay in the grass, splash in the stream, explore the woods. She still didn't eat much but she felt the sunlight was doing wonders for her health. Draco pushed her around while they were together, which thankfully wasn't much, but her skin and bones were mostly clearing of their injuries as well.

The two elder Malfoys did not seem to be around much during the day. Both Hermione and Draco seemed to be pleased with that. Hermione felt the oddest of tensions between the family; it made her even more uncomfortable than she already felt. Narcissa was neither affectionate nor caring; the things she said or did that could be mistaken as such were done based on habit and the desire to appear normal. Lucius was indifferent with twists of cruelty and sadism. His main concerns were his name and his purity, and doing everything and anything to ensure the two were preserved. And then there was Draco. He was still his unpleasant and detestable self, but was much less outward with it. Any influence he had, any power, any will to manipulate, was completely stolen away from him here. At home, there was no one to impress except his parents and, while his Slytherin peers may have found it amusing, his parents would find no humor in his tauntings.

Hermione let out a muffled giggle as she cocked her head to make the fish-resembling cloud turn into a bunny. The rabbit then shifted into an unidentifiable blur and Hermione rolled onto her stomach to breathe in the grass. She nestled her face against the warm earth and watched as she allowed a bug crawl from a blade of green onto her finger. A dark blur in her peripheral made her avert her eyes. She saw the long black cloak of Lucius flow across the lawn. He turned his head constantly, apparently looking for his son. She could not help but feel a slight fear for Draco; his father was ruthless. As soon as she knew she was out of his view, she pulled herself up from the ground and set off to find her owner before he could. She ran to his usual, secluded place on the rocks near the stream and found him lying exactly as she had left him not two hours ago. Her panting caught his attention and he looked at her questioningly as he rose to his elbows. She gave him a respectful half-nod and stated, "Your father is out looking for you, Sir. I thought you should know."

"Fuck!" He was on his feet before she'd finished her sentence. He feigned a calm walk keeping his head forward, but his eyes were sweeping his surroundings chaotically. "DRACO," he heard his father call from across the yard. He turned his head to see Lucius coming straight for him. Draco jerked his head back to look at Hermione while saying, "Go hide behind a bush or something. And don't you dare watch or listen…this is none of your business, mudblood." Hermione disappeared obediently and ducked behind a sufficient berry bush with a few feathered scavengers and no intent to adhere the latter part of her instructions. She heard the familiar low voice of Lucius and the crack of a cane. She peeked her head up to see through a barren place in the bush to see Draco on his hands and knees, coughing onto the ground. His father picked him up by the collar and dragged him toward the house. Hermione sat herself behind the large and branchy plant and plucked a dandelion growing from the ground under it. She tried to pull off each little petal individually. She figured someone would be back for her before night rolled around.

Hours passed and Hermione just sat. Picked at a scab, sat. Counted berries, sat. Talked to the birds, sat. Peeled the bark off a stick, sat. Watched the sun fall completely behind the mountain…and finally decided to walk up to the house. There was a lot of commotion in the kitchen; platters with great numbers of expensive looking food, a dozen wine bottles with double the amount of glasses, and just about that many people to match. She pressed herself against the outside of the house next to the French doors to not be seen, expecting that the company the Malfoys keep would especially not want to see her peering at them through a window. She fell to her knees and listened to the chatter and pseudo-laughter that came from within. It was lulling; Hermione's eyes drooped as she drifted off into an awkward sleep.

Sometime later, her eyes fluttered open to see nothing that she hadn't seen when they were closed. It must have been late. The sound of a few crickets crept through the otherwise silent air. The gray cloud that was covering the moon politely moved aside, brightening the night just enough so that Hermione could make out the outline of the house. She paced outside the French doors for what seemed to be ten minutes before deciding to put her bravery to the test. A hand reached out and touched the knob to open the door very warily. Nothing exploded and no guns were shot off, so she took a step further and turned the knob. Again, nothing happened. She tried to remember if the door had ever made any noise when she had used it so many times before. The wind howled, frightened her, and caused her to jump forward opening the door. The door was hastily closed before she mentally smacked herself and ran up to Draco's room…where he wasn't.

She felt as though she was going to drown in fear. She left his room, checked the sitting room, the kitchen, the dining room, the sitting room again and then finally followed her instinct: the dungeon. She opened the door as little as possible and slid her thin body through, groping her way down the first few stairs. Her heart must have stopped for an instant. She could hear a low groan and, now that her eyes had adapted, see the flicker of a few candles. Slowly, slowly, slowly; she found herself grounded on the cement floor and looked over to see a shirtless and very bloody Draco being held up only by the metal cuffs that bound his wrists.

Entranced, she walked over to him. A deep cut traced its way from his navel, down the blonde hair that trailed to the top of the belt buckle attached to the pants slung low on his hips, and stopped. Blood had soaked the waistline of his pants. It was hard to distinguish shadows from bruises, but there was a distinct fist shaped one sitting prettily on his chest. The tips of the hair that fell loosely around his face were dip-dyed red in his own blood. Numerous cuts covered his arms and shoulders. He let out a pained sigh and looked up at Hermione. There was a bust in his lip that had scabbed over and both eyes were blackened. "I know you must love this, filthy Granger," Draco forced out with as much rancor as he could muster, "…but I would appreciate it if you would release me."

Hermione snapped back into reality and unfastened the metal around his wrists. As the second arm was freed, Draco fell forward and onto the small girl standing in front of him. She put her hands on either side of his ribcage and pushed him back against the wall as gently as possible. He brushed her arms off him nonchalantly and lifted his head to stare his savoir in the eyes but, instead, looked directly over her shoulder and into a pair of eyes that closely resembled his own.

Lucius Malfoy stood behind the two teenagers, wand outstretched and completely merciless.


	7. Chapter 7

"CRUCIO!"

Draco fell to his knees, keeled over with one hand digging its nails into his chest. Blood dripped teasingly from his mouth but he did not cry out.

"What's wrong Draco? Too good to scream anymore?"

Lucius kicked the boy in the ribs, sending him toppling over onto his side. He let out a small whimper just before Lucius turned to Hermione. The Cruciatus curse hit her right in the chest and spread like wildfire to her extremities in milliseconds.

"Your little friend here knows its place…" Lucius spat out, looking down at the crumpled ball below him, "screaming at the feet of its superiors."

He pulled up his sleeve, looked at his forearm and disapparated. Hermione blinked a few times, looked at the empty place in the air where Lucius had disappeared from, made sure he was actually gone and then dragged herself toward the nearly unconscious Draco. She fully inspected him with her eyes, trying to figure out the best way to go about picking him up. His ribs were now definitely cracked, his stomach was cut, and his wrists were bruised and most likely broken. Her muscles ached and twinged but she stood.

Lucius had stayed much shorter than expected but there was certainly no complaining about it. The Dark Lord had summoned him before he could have caused any potentially death-inducing harm and he had left his battered and broken son lying on the cold concrete of his basement floor. The thought was despicable. Sure, parents and their offspring don't get along… it could lead to some yelling, abuse, but this? This was torture. This was…disgusting.

Draco had already repositioned himself onto his knees but was struggling to make any further movements. He allowed Hermione to slip her hands under his arms and around his chest to pull him up completely but he found no success in walking unassisted. He, of course, was too proud to let Hermione help him so he found aide in the walls, stairs and furniture during their journey back to his bedroom.

Hermione set down the candle she had carried up from the basement on a table sitting to the left of the head of Draco's bed where he had laid down. A faint 'pop' and a snap of little house elf fingers yielded bright light tearing through the open room. Years seemed to pass before their eyes adjusted to the new lighting. The house elf was standing impatiently in front of Hermione with a damp towel in its hand, "Master Malfoy has Master Malfoy's wand, you may need this."

The small elf was obviously referring to Draco as the latter 'Master Malfoy'. Without his wand, he would not be able to heal himself and prevent any curious infections that could creep under his skin. To the animal, this seemed routine; he was completely unfazed by Draco's current state.

She took the towel from the creature's hand and it 'popped' itself out of the room. Her head turned toward Draco as he mumbled, "bastard" under his breath. He tried to snatch the towel out of Hermione's hand but could not bend his torso enough to reach it. She held out her hand and he took it from her while trying to prop himself up on one elbow. After three vain attempts, he threw his head back into the pillow and let out a long, frustrated groan.

Hermione walked around to the other side of his bed and crawled up onto it, kneeling at his side. She looked at him, trying to explain herself with her eyes as she took back the towel that he had just gotten. Deciding it would be most logical to start with the face, she touched the towel to his bottom lip and wiped away the dried blood. Draco's teeth clenched together, Hermione could see his jaw line tense up and widen. "Sorry," she said in a truly apologetic tone, but her kindness was ignored.

She was continuing up to his hairline to clean off more blood when she noticed the white towel and no sign of being used. Draco scrunched his forehead and closed his eyes as she gingerly scrubbed the blood away. The towel, once off his skin, was again clean. 'The wonders of magic', Hermione thought to herself. She leaned forward a little and ran the towel through the length of his hair several times, taking the red that was encrusted in his hair as it went. After, she worked from his shoulder blade, down his bicep, to his forearms, palm and fingertips, cleaning every little mark. Draco did not face her the entire time and, as she went to the other arm, he turned his head to make sure it stayed that way. She moved down his chest, to his torso, and finally to the deep gash just below his abdomen. As soon as she made contact with it, Draco responded with a sharp intake of breath making Hermione pull away quickly and turn her eyes to look at his pained face.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?!" Hermione said, incredulously.

"Like I'm pathetic. I'm nowhere close to being pathetic. I don't care what you, my father, my mother, your stupid little friends or anyone thinks; I'm not pathetic." Draco rambled (sad to say), pathetically.

"The thought never crossed my mind."

She laid the towel back against him and cleaned the wound. The silence almost disturbed her. Draco's mix of embarrassment, shame, and defensiveness saddened her for reasons she couldn't understand.

"How's your back?"

"Fine."

Hermione rolled off his bed and sat down in her closest, throwing the still clean towel on top of the one she had used the first night she'd been there. She listened closely for sounds indicating Lucius had returned as Draco tossed uncomfortably trying to fall asleep, but the only sound that met her ears within the next hour was the soft, deep breaths of the blonde boy's sleep.

Unable to sleep herself, Hermione got up and dawdled around Draco's room looking at his books, quills, small trinkets, and…nothing, really. His room wasn't very personal, especially for someone who had enough money to decorate it however he liked. She pushed the thought from her mind and stopped in front of the mirror. Due to malnutrition, her face had hollowed and her hair had thinned. The once brown, frizzy bush that grew out of her head now fell in bodiless waves around her face. Her skin was tanned from the hours of sunlight but depthless. Her body was unhealthily thin but not yet bordering morbid.

She looked over the shoulder of her reflection at the boy lying in his bed. She felt sucked into a vortex of pity: a horrible emotion, yes…but not one that is easily controlled. She didn't care for him. No. That could never happen but her desire to help him was genuine. Under the circumstances, he'd proved himself to be almost amiable. He'd fed her, gave her a nicer place to stay than his house elves, let her wander around outside for hours by herself. 'It's nothing' she thought to herself. They were both at times in their lives that made them extremely vulnerable. She had no family, no friends, being forced to live with the son of a Death Eater, a pureblood, who was repulsed by her mere existence. And Draco, he was in a similar social situation; no friends, no (real) family, being forced to live with people who, if it wasn't for their name, couldn't care less if he existed or not.

No, she didn't care for him in the least bit…never.

**A/N:** Thank you all reviewers! Especially Isadora (whose name I see quite often) :) and Suika for the kind words…you're too sweet :D

Also, I'm sorry to anyone who was disappointed by the lack of evil Lucius-ness in this chapter or anyone who thinks I'm coming on too quick with the 'romance' part of it. Don't worry, I'm going to draw it out longer. Hermione is just 'confused' ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I try to proof read these a few times through before I post them but since I am the one writing it and, obviously, am aware of my intentions…it's really hard for me to catch all of my mistakes. :( I'm sorry for that. I'm neither illiterate nor stupid…just slightly careless and spacey. If you see anything (in any chapter) that bothers you because it doesn't flow, is misspelled, or sounds a bit odd…please leave me a little note in a review! I'd be more than happy to fix it so it doesn't annoy anyone else. I promise I won't be offended in the least bit. Also, the reason that the updates are coming so quickly is because I've been home 4 days this week from school coughing up all of my innards. One afternoon, I thought to myself: "HEY! What better to do while I let microorganisms munch away at my throat and lungs than finish writing my Harry Potter fanfic I started in my FRESHMAN YEAR (4 years ago)!??!"

Don't worry, I'll actually finish it this time…I need the closure.

Thank you so much for the reviews and I apologize for that little rant up there :)

P.S. Sorry this is kind of short (more short that usual, I mean)...I'm tired.  
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Light flooded in from the open, double paned window next to a quilt covered twin bed. Hermione lay on it, headphones neatly in place, listening to some muggle music and flipping through a book. Her mother knocked and peeked her head in the door, mouthing something about breakfast. A wide grin grew on Hermione's face and she nodded excitedly. She loved when her mom made breakfast. Ten lean fingers were spread out in front of the face of Mrs. Granger symbolizing the number of minutes Hermione had before she had to sit herself at the table with her two parents for a delicious, protein filled meal. She signaled her understanding to her mother with a cheery thumbs-up and went back to reading her book. Crookshanks stalked into the room pompously with a blue thread hanging from his mouth. Hermione giggled as she picked the cat up, turned it to face her and pulled the string from its mouth. She heard faint yelling but could not decipher the exact words over her music. She placed the ginger haired feline on the bed next to her, grabbed her old-school cassette player and turned down the volume.

"DRACOOOO! DRACO, GET UP." He groaned loudly as his tear-stained mother punched him with both fists in the hip. "DRACO, YOU TRAGIC WASTE OF SKIN, THIS ALL YOUR FAULT."

Hermione tried as hard as she could to hold on to her dream. It'd been so long; she'd almost forgotten what her mother's wonderful face had looked like. It slipped away from her like a hyper six year old in quicksand. She regretfully opened her eyes…what juxtaposition.

Draco was on his feet now, letting his mother pound against his chest. "IF YOU…HADN'T BEEN…SO WORTHLESS…SO LAZY…" Her speech was trying desperately to fight its way through the sobs. "I'M STILL FERTILE! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SO EASILY REPLACED." Draco stared straight ahead wearing a mask of apathy. "…BUT YOUR FATHER, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT US TO DO NOW, DRACO? I CAN'T BELIEVE I LET YOU POLLUTE MY LIFE FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS. I HATE YOU." She spit on his face. "I HATE YOU."

Hermione lie still in her closet, unnoticed, watching the catastrophic scene in front of her unfold. Draco opened his mouth to say something but Narcissa spit on him again and threw a folded newspaper and some splintered wood at his feet before turning, leaving the room, and slamming the door. With a hand on his stomach, Draco slid down the wall and painfully leaned to pick up the paper a half-meter away from him. He scanned the front page for less than a minute and started to laugh. His laughter started low and deep, from the stomach, and slowly evolved into a loud and throaty one that bounced off the walls at all angles. He stopped, punched the side of the nightstand next to him, threw the paper across the room into Hermione's little space, and shouted at her "HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL?"

She picked the paper up and looked at it hesitantly. The headline read in bold, black letters 'THREE DEATH EATERS DEAD IN LONDON.' Directly under the text, there were three pictures: one of Lucius Malfoy, one of Antonin Dolohov, and one of Walden Macnair.

"My wand…she broke my wand. MY WAND." This seemed to put Draco over the edge. His hands pulled through his hair roughly making his the skin on his face tighten. He slammed his head into the wall multiple times splattering red behind him.

The boy had gone mad. His life was floating aimlessly in a cocktail of horrors. If anything else were to happen, he was sure his heart would give up on him…just cease its beating. He had no past to stand on, no present to cling to, and no future to hang on. Not even any possibilities to give him hope. He felt as though spikes were being hammered into either temple.

"STOP! Stop, Draco! You're hurting yourself!" Hermione ran over to him and put herself between him and the wall, slumping down so that she was straddling him. He threw his head back for one last effortless blow and met her clavicle. His head rested there for only a moment before he hurled himself forward to spit out the bile that had pushed its way through his empty stomach and up his esophagus. He continued to dry heave as Hermione hopped up, grabbed the white towel that was still damp in her closet and cleaned up the small mess.

She offered him a corner, which he took and then threw to her feet. She picked up the still spotless piece of cloth and put herself back behind Draco, whose breathing was mellowing. He dragged himself down closer to the floor and leaned his head on the top of her thigh. Precious Malfoy blood was draining out of his head streaking his hair. Hermione pushed the hair away from the split in his head and pressed the towel against it.

Coming into realization of what was occurring, Draco swatted her hand away.

"Get off me, Granger! I don't need your help!"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at the back of his head.

"For one, Malfoy, I'm quite sure there is more of you on me than there is me on you…and two, there's no one around to care." She said, placing her hand back on his head and brushing the hair that had fallen into his face to the side. "You mustn't put your pride before your life."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** woo! Answers all around! Pretty boring chapter, but you needed to get some background knowledge sometime. :/

The weather was conveniently melancholy. Thick gray clouds blanketed the sky letting only thread-like rays of sunshine through to light the world below it. Rain beat hard against the house making empty threats at the two wizards within while the thunder and lightening were caught in a passionate battle of light and sound. The wind was relentless; any hint of content, any upward twitch of the mouth, any happy word, was quickly stolen away by a gust with an intimidating declaration of envy. Every once and a while, the mess outside would subdue to sad, calm tears that dripped down the glass on the windows slowly and apologetically. Sunlight was briefly allowed to shine down and remind the earth that there was something to look forward to just before the cruel wind pushed its way back through. The storm was just as confused as anyone.

Glossy brown eyes were glued to the thin, blonde boy who sat reclining on his bed with a glass of water in one hand and a cracker in the other. The cracker had been there for over fifteen minutes and had only shrunken by a few nibbles. Neither of the brains in that room was processing anything related to the immediate present; they had dug themselves too deep into memory.

The recently repressed thoughts that had haunted Hermione's subconscious in her cell in Knockturn Alley had found their way back. The faded images of her smiling parents' faces were quickly replaced with the blank, dead ones that had tattooed themselves to the back of her eyelids. It was too horrible to be true.

Without thinking, they had boarded the Hogwarts Express along with numerous other families to 'rescue' their children from the attack happening on the grounds. They were accompanied by a few other muggle families who were not aware of the damage magic could cause. Upon arrival, panic struck. They ran, screaming for their daughter, through the chaos. After hours of tears and raspy screams, they spotted her. She appeared dead. Their heartbroken wails shot over the screams of those around them.

Hermione had resurfaced from unconsciousness to see her parents kneeling on either side of her with wet faces and grateful smiles. She was kissed on the head more times than she could count. "I love y—," her father's words were interrupted by Death's elegant scythe. 'Avada kedavra' was repeated and green light swallowed Hermione's mother as she fell into her lap. That was too fast…they couldn't actually be dead already. Hermione fearfully struck her mom in the back. "This isn't fair…THIS ISN'T FAIR!" A laugh poured out of the hood and down the front of the black cloak that stood in front of Hermione, void of identity. It pointed its wand straight at Hermione. She could hear the breath escape its mouth like it was about to speak but it no sooner fell to its feet to reveal a vengeful Mrs. Weasley. "Hermione, dear!" Her expression changed quickly from one of relief to one of terror. "HERMIONE! BEHIND YOU!" Three hooded figures picked her up from the floor and pulled her through the corpse fields.

A tear escaped from her unmoving eyes and rolled down the contour of her face. Draco still hadn't moved. His mind was filled less with the memory of events and more with the memory of emotions. His parents were so disappointed with him. He tried, he truly did, but there was nothing he could do to gain any sort of respect from them. His father wanted him to follow in his footsteps, to make him look good, to become the Dark Lords most praised servant. Also, along with Narcissa, he wanted an heir; a beautiful, pure blood boy to carry on the Malfoy name and keep it in high esteem. Neither parent had ever trusted him to come through. He was a 'coward,' 'weak'.

He'd tried many times to explain that he was only eighteen; he had a hundred-plus years ahead of him…he wasn't ready to get married and have a child. "No Draco, you just know there isn't anyone willing," his mother would reply angrily.

He had no moral arguments against becoming a Death Eater; he'd been socialized into thinking muggleborns and muts were lower than him. The seed was planted in him young and it had sprouted quickly and grown into a huge, empowering tree but the responsibilities associated with such were annoying. Draco wanted to answer to himself, not to the personality of a corrupted little boy who had turned himself into a monster. He would have to tear himself away from his life at any given moment just because his forearm started to burn, have to waste his energy on killing things he had no connection with, to ask for permission before doing everything. It seemed like pure masochism. There weren't even any justifying benefits.

He'd planned on joining anyway, to please his father, but he was procrastinating. He hadn't killed a muggle/muggleborn yet and he was reminded of it daily. Last night there had been a Death Eater meeting and the question of Draco's loyalty had been brought up. To Lucius, this was disgraceful and he saw fit to make Draco know that.

A hand and a cracker dropped down to trace the cut in his stomach. He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure who he hated more…his father or himself.

It wasn't the kind of self-hate one is most familiar with; he didn't hate himself as an entity, but who he was…where he was born, how he was raised, his money, his name, his motivations, his life. He dreaded waking up every morning to a familiar room in a familiar house with familiar people. He craved something different, something controversial, something exciting. He wanted fear instilled in him. Not the fear that was already there, the fear of knowing what would happen if he did something wrong, but rather, the fear of _not_ knowing. He wanted a blank future that he could fill with whatever he felt.

Draco set the glass of water on the stand next to him, finished his cracker in one bite and left the room.


	10. Chapter 10

The sound of the door clicking shut tore Hermione out of her trance. Draco was walking over to his wardrobe close to naked and dripping wet. One hand was holding a blue towel in place and the other was carrying a Firewhiskey bottle by the neck. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, poked at his puffy, black eyes and then took a swig out of the bottle. The wardrobe was opened and a pair of pretty green boxers was pulled out followed by some black pants and white button up shirt that were all slung over an arm. Hermione watched his feet as they got closer and closer to the place on the floor where she was sitting and eventually stopped. Her eyes moved up his legs, to the towel, then traced their way up his stomach, his sternum, neck, lips, nose and finally met his eyes.

"I know I'm ridiculously attractive, Granger, but try not to pounce." He threw his towel off and onto her head, covering her face. She let out a small "humph."

"Disappointed?" Draco said with, what she could tell was, his trademark grin.

"You're unbelievable."

"Aren't I?"

His feet stepped out of the small amount of floor she could see from under the towel but she kept her terrycloth tent in place. She rolled the corner of the towel in between her thumb and index finger waiting for something to tell her it was safe to remove it. Nothing seemed to be coming.

"Are you going to stay under there forever?" Draco's voice eventually broke in. She pulled the towel off her head and threw it next to her. He was sitting on his bed, looking at a book in his lap and rustling his wet hair with his hand. He took another sip out of his bottle and looked up at Hermione who quickly averted her eyes.

"You're creeping me out," he stated bitterly, "why don't you go shower or something?"

Without a word, she picked up his towel, the few towels left in her closet and left down the hall toward the bathroom. After struggling with the faucet for an eternity, she stripped of her clothes, jumped in the warm water and let it run over her face. She let out a long sigh and admired the few scars she had, the proof that all of this was real. The sound of the water falling around her dulled as she wandered in the neuro-pathways of her mind. What was Draco going to do now? Was he going to kill her so that he could keep the Malfoy name in the ring of Death Eaters? Was he going to just wander about the estate everyday like nothing had happened? Was he going to run?

She turned the water off, stepped out, and realized she had nothing to change into and not the faintest idea where the towels were. Cupboards were opened, furniture was looked under, but nothing. She picked up the blue towel of Draco's and wrapped it tightly around herself.

She'd made it back to the bedroom easily but was whipped with self-consciousness as soon as she walked in. Her old clothes were held up in her hand awkwardly as she stood with her toes pointing inward and asked, "Do I put these on again?" Draco grunted, threw down the book and walked past her through his door. "Come."

She followed him to the closet that was around the corner at the end of the hall near the bathroom. Inside it were endless shelves with everything imaginable on them. He picked a shelf at random and found some plain, black pants and a similar looking long sleeved shirt that were thrown at her. Her head was bowed in thanks and she turned on her heel to go into the bathroom to change.

The material was thick, warm and fit her small frame well. It was a little tight for her likings but it would have to do. She looked in the mirror and twisted her face as she pulled the neckline up higher…a little low, too. She turned sideways to look at her figure; it had awesome potential but when you eat nothing except a few small pieces of fruit and a slice of bread a day, it beats the potential down. Her hands ran down her front and smoothed out the shirt before she wrung the water out of her hair.

"A WAND!" Draco's voice could be heard from rooms away. His face appeared around the corner. "I need to get a wand." Hermione gave him a strange look and moved her head up and down slowly. "Are you going to come or just stare at yourself all day? You're not that great, if I were you I'd get away from the mirror as soon as possible." He turned unstably and held on to the wall for support. The injuries he'd gotten had already made him walk oddly but mixed with the slight bit of coordination loss he'd imposed upon himself, he looked completely ridiculous.

When she walked into his bedroom, he was pulling a green sweater over his white button-up. She slipped on her black school shoes and turned to wait for further instruction. "Hmmm, I suppose we'll have to disapparate," he mumbled while looking questioningly at his hands. Hermione, understanding that to be successful in their attempt they would need to somehow latch on to each other, reached out and grabbed his arm just above his bruised wrists. She doubted they were broken, he seemed to have full motion, but she was still weary of touching him in any displeasing way.

Draco shuddered as her four fingers gently touched the skin on the inside of his arm. The chill reached the top of his spine just as her thumb added itself to the collection and closed around him. A forgotten uncomfortable feeling spread throughout the two as they were wrenched into a momentary tight and rubbery vortex. Warm contact accompanied their feet meeting firm ground. Both pairs of eyes were opened to see the hair of the other; they were pressed tightly together, holding onto each other's elbows to maintain stability. Draco was the first to stumble away from their human knot and, without any hesitation, he opened the door to the wand shop that they had appeared in front of.

Hermione sat on a rock just outside watching people pass. They all looked so normal, happy. They looked like nothing had happened. Hot jealously filled her. It wasn't that she wished everyone was suffering like her, but she wanted them to at least acknowledge that there were people whose lives were ruined. They should be fighting for them, helping them, saving them. She was angry with them for just continuing their lives.

The ring of a small bell and the jingle of a coin filled pouch were heard in close proximity. She stood and looked at Draco who looked like an eight year old who'd just left a candy shop. "Come! Let's try it out!" He looked at her with a vicious grin and walked into a small, badly lit alleyway between two buildings. "Expelliarmus!" Hermione was shoved into the wall behind her and almost knocked out. She fell gracelessly and landed on the corner of some odd thing in a garbage bag. The alleyway was filled with hysterical laughing. "OW, OW. GRANGER STOP. IT HURTS." Draco squinted at Hermione, who was sitting on the ground with her arms and legs crossed, through tear filled eyes. "Oh man, hahaha…that was funny…haha…phew. I need to take care of this thing." He lifted his shirt, touched his new wand to his stomach and watched the scabbed wound slowly fade leaving only an extremely faint scar. "Huh, not as good as my other…" he analyzed. He did the same to his head, eyes, wrists, and ribs and then let of a sigh of relief. "Much better." His gazed turned over onto Hermione. "Oh, don't be immature. Get up, I don't want to be seen sitting with you alone in an alleyway."

He started toward the main walkway and turned out of Hermione's site. She sat there just for the sake of defying him. Ten seconds passed, fifteen, twenty…she started to worry. Thirty, forty…she let out a little grunt and set out to hunt him down. "BOO!" She jumped back and nearly fell. Draco had been waiting just around the corner. "HAHAHA! Oh, Merlin…you are immature."

"What are you talking about?! So are you!"

"Oh dear, not really helping our case there, are we?"

She glowered at the back of his head as she trailed behind him. With each step pieces of his hair would fly into the wind for a little taste of freedom and then flop back down onto his head. A curve of fabric that lay between his shoulder blades would widen when the pieces of hair were airborne and then collapse as they fell. The invisible arcs created by his hands as his arms swung were perfectly even in each advancement. His feet still moved unevenly, the Firewhiskey was still running through his blood, but the flaws were patterned. The rhythm of it calmed her. She uncrossed her arms and released the tight expression on her face.

They walked through the door to a bookshop that was being held open for them by an old, hunched over wizard with a genial face. Hermione smiled at him and he winked at her. She stayed close behind Draco the entire time he browsed. When he got enough into skimming through a book, she would pick one up that interested her and look through it. They'd spent hours in there and Draco had only three books; he was obviously very picky with his reading. They made their way up one of the staircases to the second floor of Flourish and Blotts and continued looking around. Draco picked up a red book with neat, gold printing on the spine. Hermione recognized it immediately. "oooohhh!!! That is an amazing book!"

Draco shot her a disbelieving look. "Yeah, coming from the girl who told me Hogwarts: A History was her favorite book…I don't think so." He set the book back on the shelf where he'd found it.

"No, no! You _have_ to get it. It's very different. Brashton is like the Nietzsche of the wizarding world."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Hermione let out a frustrated sigh, "just get it, I promise you'll like it."

"Fine, but let's go. I'm starving." He picked the book back up, went down the opposite staircase and paid for the books.

All of the clouds had cleared and the night sky was pure black and textured like velvet. Stars twinkled like diamonds scattered across infinity. The air was chilly but motionless and thick, so it wasn't problematic. The eatery they'd gone to was not far from the bookshop. It was quaint. A woman in dark blue robes seated them and took Draco's order: pumpkin juice and a very tall sandwich. He ate slowly and silently as Hermione stared out the window. "Hey," Draco was holding out a fourth of his sandwich, "you want some?"

"Oh, yeah…thanks." She smiled widely at him before taking a small bite.

"Don't get too excited…you're just no good to me dead."

"Unless, of course you're a necropheliac."

"EH! You're disgusting. Even if I was, I'd still never stoop as low as to victimize you."

Draco broke a few moments silence, "You know, Granger…you've been daring lately…throwing a lot witty remarks at me and stuff. Just because you've seen me in times of vulnerability doesn't mean we're equal or anything."

Hermione swallowed the food that she was chewing and looked him in the eye, "sorry."

He leaned back in the booth they were sitting at and crossed his hands over his chest. "Nah, it's ok. It makes you more interesting."

"Then why would you even bring it up?!"

Draco smirked and looked down at his arms. "Just needed to make sure you knew I'm the one in control."

**A/N:** A bit of a playful mood, could you tell:) hehe and I just _had_ to add Nietzsche in. The man's brilliant. [I know he's a bit on the controversial side so sorry if anyone's offended but what can I say? I'm a cynic.   
As always, thank you reviewers!!!


	11. Chapter 11

A red book with neat gold printing on its spine lay on the end of a bed with a ribbon holding its reader's place about half way through. An observer's mouth was pulled up and out by its corners. He'd read the one she recommended first. She was sure it wasn't a conscious decision; he wouldn't purposefully hold her opinion anywhere higher than that of a flubberworm but it was a nice thought anyway. 

The last week had passed quite slowly. The storm took on a viral attitude: changing with each passing day but not necessarily for the better. The nights were curiously still and had a brain washing affect. It would wrap you up tight, make you feel secure, hum a sweet and low tune that fell on your ears with out any obstacles and let you fall asleep in its soothing embrace with the feeling that the next day could only be beautiful. Contrary truth was met when eyes and curtains were opened the next morning. There was the storm again, staring you straight in the face. Today there were some signs of let up; the wind and rain seemed to have used up all of their energy and were now casting a spring-like drizzle onto the earth. Grateful faces looked up into the sky and half-smiled at it, hoping to encourage a trend.

Narcissa had kept herself out of the house for the most part but it was a mystery as to where she went. When she was there, her presence was not welcomed. She would shoot angry remarks at Draco, use him as a scapegoat, remind him that he was worthless, you know…all the things a _good_ mother does. She instructed the house elves not to answer to Draco anymore, which made Hermione a slight bit more useful, but still not much. Her visits rarely lasted more than an hour or two…just long enough to put her son in a foul mood. She would leave abruptly and usually without any indication of future intentions.

A funeral was held for Lucius but was treated like a VIP event at a club for Great Britain's elite. Narcissa informed Draco he wasn't allowed entry due to his 'betrayal' to his father. She explained that everyone would be there and that she was planning on announcing her disowning of Draco to them all. She was pregnant and this baby boy would be a much more suitable heir. He would carry on the Malfoy name with honor, he would join the leagues of the Death Eaters at a young age, and inherit all of the family wealth when Narcissa passed on. How she was so sure it was going to be male was beyond anyone but quickly dismissed. It was best not to argue with Narcissa.

Draco didn't appear to be too hurt when Narcissa had broken it to him but his emotions were often un-readable. After that particular dramatic exit of his mother's, he gently instructed Hermione to get him some water and opened a book. Apart from the booms of thunder and Narcissa, the days were passing eventlessly…almost boring. Draco would read and Hermione would clean. Draco would eat and Hermione would nibble on the leftovers that were offered to her. Draco would say something typical and Hermione would retort with something equally as typical. 

'_Wow_,' they would both wish in silence, '_I really want the rain to stop_.'

Hermione sat with her head on the glass of the French doors in the kitchen counting minutes and raindrops. She waited patiently. Draco had thought it would be amusing to make her bake for him. A small 'heh' escaped through her nostrils expressing her dislike for the situation; her mom was the cook, not her. She supposed it wasn't horrible; it was something to do in a huge empty house. The minutes were mixed with her thoughts and their succession was all messed up. She got up, opened the oven and poked a muffin. '_Hmm, 10 more minutes_…' she thought to herself deciding it was better to underestimate than to over estimate…she didn't know how mad Draco would be if they didn't turn out.

She didn't mind him much. He was all she had. The only constant human contact, the only animate thing that made her feel anything besides consuming sadness, and the person that took her out of her very own metaphorical hell. She depended on him, in a way. She justified these thoughts by telling herself it was all with selfish motives. He was still the intolerable git he'd always been…he just had use now. 

Was that really it? Was he just a tool? She scolded herself for even considering otherwise but she was never one to deny reality. She noted that her witticisms were often of a joking nature or plain defensiveness, never direct insults. Anger and resentment rarely came along with anything she said to him. Did she really allow herself to soften up? No way. She passed it off on the trauma she'd recently undergone; it was making her delusional.

The smell of warm spices hit her nose and she jumped up to check the oven. Draco appeared at the bottom of the staircase and what brilliant timing he had! The muffins were done. She pulled them out and placed them on a cloth that was laid across a table that stood sturdily near the doors.

"Are you done yet?" Draco asked with an undertone of unhappiness. He looked exceptionally tired. 

Hermione motioned toward the tin that sat on the table with an 'isn't-it-obvious' expression. "Feel free to help yourself, I'm not getting burnt."

He glared at her momentarily, sat in a chair, put his head in his hands and let out a long breath. He seemed to deflate. The feeling of discomfort very low in the stomach that Hermione was becoming more and more intimate with returned to her. Did she really feel bad for him? He'd been horrible to her all throughout their schooling, he'd bought her as a slave, he hated everything she was…why would she care?

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." Draco said shortly.

Knowing she couldn't push him into anything, she surrendered and sat across the table from him. Her eyes glazed over as she focused on the air just in front of Draco's head making it look like he'd put her in a trance. He peeked through his fingers, saw what looked like Hermione giving him a death glare, and decided to kick her out of her transfixion…literally. It worked quite well; she jumped almost completely out of her chair. '_Almost_' due to her hitting her head on the counter behind her. She slipped back into her seat and then further, eventually hitting the floor. 

"Oh, right. You're pathetic. Get up."

She didn't get up. Draco looked under the table and saw her sprawled on the floor, legs and arms jutting out at all angles and her head sitting in a pool of blood.

"Granger?" he gave her a little kick to encourage movement. "Grangerrr," a slightly harder kick. 

Not even a twitch. He hopped out of his seat and crawled under the table and on top of her, with a finger to her neck checking for a heartbeat. Nothing was felt and a small wave of panic washed over him. He pulled her head up to his chest and frantically pushed her hair around, looking for the open skin. A wand was pulled out of his pocket and seconds later the split in her head was melded back together. Hermione's head resting against his chest was exchanged for the opposite. With his ear a few inches lower than her clavicle, Draco could make out a distinct thump of heart; he must've missed it earlier. Gravity does not ignore the unconscious and that made for a very dead looking Hermione; her head and limbs were hanging loosely and moving only with an outside force. 

Draco sat back against one of the table legs with the senseless girl in his arms. He didn't care that he'd hurt her or anything; hell, he didn't even like her but he certainly disliked loneliness much more. A mix of horror and disgust spread across his face, "eww," he said aloud. He _did_ care. The realization was terrible. She was the only person that he 'had' at the point; if she was gone he would be completely by himself and while Hermione wasn't the company he'd look for, or yet, ever consider…she wasn't bad to have around. 

She did what she was told, which was nice, but that wasn't the whole of it. He'd actually grown to consider her mentally equal. She, of course, was not equal in any other sense but he had to admit, the girl _was_ intelligent. The book she'd forced him into buying was absolute nonsense… but not in a bad way. It was passionate expression of everything. It was critical of all, revealing to its reader everything in its truest nature, stripped of all the euphemisms that had covered its ugly self. It was enlightening and inspiring while its influence corrupted you; completely morphing all perceptions. It was the world's poetic tragedy.

He hadn't admitted to her that the book was the most fascinating thing he'd ever read; he didn't want to give her the pleasure of knowing she was appreciated. Small conversation would start about the book but just as Draco's heart began to race and excitement and passion would flood in, he would pull his toes out of the water. The wall was high and thick and he didn't plan on letting Mr. Gorbachev _anywhere_ near it. 

Also, the girl did hardly anything wrong. Sure, she made mistakes sometimes but this is a different kind of wrong, a less concrete version, Draco's version. He could find at least ten little things that killed him about everyone. He had a million pet peeves; little lies people let slip, the way people looked for compliments, interjections people would over use, unnecessary gestures that accompanied speech, closed minds, lack of eye contact, ignorance, narcissism, he could go on for years. But with Hermione, there was nothing. He hated her but not because she annoyed him. Actually, he hated her because there was nothing to hate. She hadn't been too attractive when school began but that wasn't much of a problem anymore. She was extremely stubborn, but then so was he…it only proved she was strong and intelligent enough to get herself right the first time. 

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. Surely he was playing tricks on himself. This was too much.

A groan was let out as Hermione raised her hand to her head, "why did you kick me!" Draco pushed her off of him lightly and got up. Hermione observed her surroundings and fully assessed the situation. She checked all over her head and felt nothing out of the ordinary. A smile spread across her face, an "aww!" escaped from under the table and she too pulled herself out from under the it. A 'what-the-hell?' look greeted her and the smile on her face widened. 

"You helped me." Draco rolled his eyes at her and turned to walk away but was stopped by arms around his waist. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to figure out the correct reaction to such craziness. "You're insane. That blow to the head must have put you over the edge," he decided but didn't remove himself from her grasp. Hermione pulled her head back and looked straight into gray eyes, "thank you!"

"Yeah, whatever…get off me." Draco finished the rotation he'd only gotten halfway through and went upstairs. Hermione followed and sat, cross-legged, on the floor about a meter from the bed where Draco was propped against pillows. She put her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hand, a smile on her face and stared at him.

"What do you want, you freak?"

"You don't hate me."

"I can assure you, I do."

"Then why did you help me?"

"I told you, Granger. You are no use dead."

"But you had to have known I wasn't going to die from something so minor."

"Something I'm beginning to pity. Sorry, simple mistake on my part."

"Why did I wake up on you?" 

"GRANGER, STOP WITH THE QUESTIONS. And I was just thinking you _weren't_ annoying." The latter half was added mistakenly. Hermione's smile now bared her teeth. "Don't worry, you've completely erased any misjudgments I had." 

"I don't hate you," Hermione admitted innocently.

"You are so _weird_!"

"But if I were normal, I would be boring."

A pillow was propelled at Hermione's face and she allowed herself to exaggerate its power. She fell back onto the floor and pretended to have been knocked unconscious again. 

"There is no way you are _that_ lame. It was a pillow, for Merlin's sake!"

She didn't stir. He threw several more pillows and then small box of Bertie Bott's Jellybeans but she remained motionless. He moved off his bed and squatted over her with a foot on each side of her legs just below her hips. With her shoulders in his hands, he shook her. A small smile returned to her and he stopped the shaking with her face very close to his own. Hermione winked open one eye and looked at him.

Draco grunted and released his grip on her shoulders, "You're becoming more and more bold with each passing day." 

**A/N:** Sorry about the wait: school, work and other viciousness. & Sorry if this story is not going as you hoped…I suck at plots / 


	12. Chapter 12

"FINALLY" Draco shouted after opening the curtains to his bedroom.

The sun crashed into the room with epic power, filling every corner, crevice, and detail with beautiful and long awaited ultra-violet rays. Hermione sort of rolled out of her little closet space and squeezed her eyes shut in attempt to protect them from the overwhelming amount of light flooding into the room. Knowing what was going on, she smiled with her face looking somewhat squashed because of the amount of pressure she was using to force her eyes shut.

"Get up, Granger…it's a lovely day! And get that horrid contortion off your face, you look like that hideous cat you used to own."

Hermione put her hands over her eyes and opened them. She could see how the sunlight creeping through the cracks in her fingers made her skin appear a shade of bright pink and her smile grew. Oh how she'd missed going outside. A gap between her middle and ring finger grew larger and larger as her eyelid closed more and more. She squinted at Draco, who was standing close to her, looking down critically, then pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, letting her eyes slowly get adjusted to the new day. She blinked wildly with her focus on Draco's knees and this seemed to push him over the edge. He let out a guttural moan, grabbed her upper arm and yanked her up to standing position. The smile that hadn't let Hermione's face faded gradually as her eyes made their way up the face of the boy who was centimeters from her. Draco's hand hadn't left her arm but she made no struggle against it. The few seconds spent in such proximity stretched out into gangly and awkward hours that caused vicious flames to lick at the inside of both of their stomachs.

Hermione's face reddened slightly but Draco, of course, kept his perfect appearance. Small hands found their way to Draco's abdomen and used its solidly to push their owner away from him, as if there were some magnetic pull that wouldn't allow her to just step backwards. Seemingly unfazed, Draco turned, grabbed his broomstick and handed it to Hermione without making any eye contact.

The journey to the field far from the Malfoy manor, although about a two-minute walk, felt as if it had passed quicker than the two seconds they had spent so close. Draco rolled his eyes as a gesture of self-disgust for letting himself be so affected by something so simple. The thought had nearly passed from Hermione's mind; she was once again being transfixed by the grace of Draco's movement. She ran lightly to catch up to him, "Is seeker your best position?"

Draco shot her a look, "What?"

"Is seeker your best position? I always had the impression that you played it just trying to up Harry, but you do fly well. I was wondering if that was your best position."

Draco let out a small but hearty laugh, "Of course you would have some sort of impression like that, you are far too over-analytical. It had nothing to do with Potter, it had to do with House rivalry. I knew I could fly well and the Slytherin seeker was inept so I tried out." He was lying to himself just as much as he was to Hermione. He'd gotten beyond tired of hearing the constant comparisons his father made with his talented peers. His face was not hiding this cheerless recollection so Hermione opted to keep her mouth shut.

Upon reaching the field, Hermione extended her hand with the broomstick in it, "Is there anything you want me to do?" Draco grabbed the piece of wood out from her and replied negatively.

A smile broke out as she resisted skipping to the water's edge. She dipped her bare feet into the water and sat on the rock that she normally could find Draco at. She laid her head down on her lap and closed her eyes, soaking in the vitamin D. The warm hitting her felt like palpable happiness. She drifted into subconsciousness, fully absorbing her surroundings. Her senses were still functioning to their fullest possibilities but her mind was somewhere else. An hour passed in what seemed like minutes and the sound of feet hitting grass knocked her out of her state. She ignored the presence behind her and just stared and the curves of light that were the reflection of the sun off the high points in the ripples of the water.

Draco removed his shoes, rolled up his pants and aimed the head of his broomstick right at Hermione's spine, just between her shoulder blades. He stepped forward with his left foot and stabbed the broomstick right into her back. Obviously not expecting a blow, Hermione was overly surprised and she jumped forward and fell into the water. Draco watched and moved to take his place on the rock nonchalantly as an angry Hermione surfaced.

"WHAT WAS THAT FOR!?"

A small, almost unnoticeable smile crept onto Draco's face. Hermione's clothes were plastered to her, weighing her down. The black cloth pants hid no curve in her form and were sinking down low on her hips. Her hair had clumped in thick pieces around her head with a few smaller ones holding onto the skin of her face and neck for dear life. Draco tore his eyes away from her and watched his legs as they were submersed in the water up to his knees. "You shouldn't have stolen my rock," Draco stated coolly.

"You could have asked me to move! You didn't need to push me in the water!"

"Oh but Ganger, how much less entertaining would that have b-?"

Before he could finish his sentence, a grip on both his ankles was pulling him into the water. He sat mid-torso in the stream with a deathly glare in his eyes. In one swift movement, he stood, wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist and threw her into the middle of the stream where the water rose to just under her chest. Deciding he couldn't do too much worse to her, she lunged forward and dragged Draco into the middle of the stream with her. She pushed his head under the water and jumped backward to avoid any instinctual flailing of the arms.

"I'm going to drown you!" Draco said with no actual intent to follow through.

He pulled his shirt off, held it by each end of the sleeve and swung it over his head and then around the retreating girl in front of him. Working quickly, he made no time for Hermione to think of a reaction. He pulled back on the sleeves bringing her closer and closer to him. Just as her back hit him, he snaked his arms around the front and tried to push her under the water. She turned to face him, hoping she would have less of a disadvantage and climbed up him in her efforts to escape a watery death. She secured herself with her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck.

All human motion stopped. Draco looked up at Hermione and watched a bead of water trail down a waved pieced of hair, drip onto her cheek, run down, slow at the slope in her face where her lips began and then slowly roll across her lips. The bead lingered momentarily on her bottom lip before it fell onto her chin and lost itself in the wetness of her clothes. Draco's eyes paused on her lips longer than the water did. Both of their holds loosened and Hermione slipped down him, bringing her feet to the rocks below the two of them. She crossed her arms over her chest but didn't let herself get embarrassed, "That's the third time that's happened in the past twelve hours."

Draco's head turned a whole ninety degrees, giving Hermione a profile view. "Yeah," he replied, disgruntled.

"There's no one around to think any less of you because you didn't go through with your threat. You don't need to make a big deal out of it."

Draco's head turned back to face Hermione, "That's got nothing to do with anything. Don't talk about things you don't know." Hermione handed him the shirt that was still stuck to her, "Jeez, you're so uptight."

**A/N:** A more in-depth and emotive Chapter 13, I promise. I'm really sorry if anyone is getting tired of this drawn out thing...I'm just trying make it slightly more realistic. Thank you, my loyal readers...and welcome to any new.

:) enjoy life, everyone!


	13. Chapter 13

The silhouette of Draco was barely defined in his dark room. If one were to squint tightly and focus intently, it could be seen that he was hunched over with his head only being held up by his hand that were only being kept stable because his elbows were resting on his knees. He was shaking horribly…he couldn't recall ever having a more frightening dream. The strange thing was he could remember it vividly and there was no reason to feel frightened; the emotion was completely unjustifiable.

"Lumos" was whispered and the end of Draco's wand spit out light. The clock's arms were opened at a near perfect one hundred and eighty degree angle. Two forty-seven. A long breath was drawn in through his nose bringing his back up a few centimeters. With his thumbs pressed against his closed eyelids, he could make out the images of his dream through colored noise. The content of the dream was only a thirty-second clip that played over and over again. The imagery was not stressed in the dream; its emphasis was placed on emotions.

Draco laid a hand on a door knob, feeling indifferent, kind of apathetic, and then when the door was opened and the outside world and the guest were revealed to him, his indifference morphed into a kind of happiness that was mixed with a small amount of vulnerability. The vulnerability was kicked down the staircase of consciousness. Every second that passed, it would tumble down another step and he would become more and more aware of how the smile on his face and the relaxed nature of his eyes were making him look weak and exposed. The light outside the door was strong and the face of the person standing on the other side of the door was not easily made out at first. The more detail that developed on the face, the more Draco's entire being would fill with fear. Every time the clip got close to ending, when the face would have just enough features to detect an identity, it would cut out and restart. The sin curve of emotion the reoccurring dream was causing made Draco restless and he finally woke, trembling and in a cold sweat.

He let the breath he was holding in explode out of him and laid back on his bed; he knew exactly what 'reality' for which the dream was acting as a metaphor. He was letting the barrier he put between around himself to ward off human relationships become too permeable; the stupid Granger girl kept wiggling her way in. Three times! Three times happy thoughts and horrible temptations clouded his good judgment. His nails dug into his scalp and he whispered to himself, "stupid…I'm so _stupid_!"

He was making himself look moronic in the long run. What would happen when the wall completely fell and he was left standing alone, naked and defenseless? He would be ridiculed, that's what. Fingers would be pointed as hysterical ugly faces shouted insults and mockeries. There was no way Draco Malfoy was going to be made to feel inferior. The boy shot an extremely angry look in the direction of closet. How did he let her have such a manipulative power over him? With his wand still lit, he moved his arm to point the light source toward his closet.

The light fell on her face subtly because of the distance. Her hair spilled gracefully around her and her arms gently hugged a bundle of cloth; everything about her made her look so innocent, so pure, as if bad intentions ever crept their way into her head. Draco scoffed and convinced himself otherwise. She knew perfectly well what she was doing. "Awful, loathsome, mudblood Granger," he spat at her quietly.

He removed his eyes from the sleeping girl and yanked his blankets to cover himself. "Knox." Delving deep into his mind, he contemplated ways to solve his problem, thinking everything through thoroughly, weighing the pros and cons and quadruple checking for any loopholes that might have wandered out of his head. The morning sunlight began to show its gracious face and he'd decided that it was vital he got rid of her. There were two options being contrasted: he'd either have to kill her or sell her back to the shop in Knockturn Alley. If he killed her, he'd have to deal with the body, the possibility of feeling guilt, and the memory of her face and screams as she wasted precious resources for the last time. If he sold her back, the only thing he would have to worry about was coming up with a good excuse as to why he wanted to dispose of her and that couldn't be too hard.

Draco was pleased. He would once again have power over himself and without his father and mother around to kick him down he could live independently, perhaps even happily. His confidence returned to him completely; his chest and back muscles tightened and his spine straightened. He sat up, stood up, and then walked over to Hermione's closet. His wand twitched toward the ceiling and the room lit up as if a light switch were just flicked on.

An uncomfortable pain started to eat away at his innards when he looked down at the sleeping Hermione; he doubted it would be as easy as he'd imagined. Her eyes fluttered open and, as if he were alarmed, Draco took a quick step backwards. Her eyes filled with curiosity and, hoping getting to the point would make less difficult, Draco spoke.

"You're leaving today."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the carpet, completely confused. "What do you mean, I'm leaving?"

"You are leaving. Getting out of this house. I'm selling you back. I don't want you…you don't even do anything for me. It's completely useless for me to keep you here, so you're leaving."

Her eyes opened wide with fear and sadness. She could not grasp the concept; it was simply impossible. He couldn't just dump her back in that prison. "What?," she asked, coming off as incompetent.

"Gone! I don't want you anymore! Are you stupid!? Do you need me to bark it at you?!"

The brown eyes that hadn't blinked for almost a whole minute closed tightly and rung out tears as she managed to choke out, "I don't want to go".

"Yes you do, I hate you…you have no place here."

All air had caught in her throat making her unable to respond. She rolled onto her side, covered her face with her arms and cried. Draco clenched his jaw as he watched her break down. He could feel himself weakening.

"Come on, time to go," he said with feigned sternness.

Hermione's leg twitched slightly and her cries turned into bawls. She tried to push herself off the ground but only got herself onto all fours. Her right hand clawed at her stomach as she kept herself supported with her left. "I-I'm sor-rry. I don't kn-"

"Stop that nonsense, just get up."

"D-Draco, what did I d-do?"

"You are meaningless…not worth my time. It has nothing to do with anything you've done." Emotion flooded Draco, just touching the bottom of his vocal cords and every once and a while, a wave would splash up and make his voice crack.

"P-Please let me stay. I'll do any-anything." She could make out blurred faces in her memory. Knockturn Alley was a tightly packed unit of the pompous and the perverted; Draco's quirks were nothing compared to those sadists. There was no way she wanted to go anywhere away from here, especially back there. Hermione's hand moved from her stomach to his pant leg and she repeated herself pitifully, "please?"

Draco's own breathing had become shallow. He kicked her hand off him gently and she dropped her support from her hands to her elbows and cried harder. "Pl-e-uh," her words were incomprehensible now. Draco bit his lip and stared straight up at the ceiling, lost.

"Why would you want to stay here anyway, Granger? What's here for you?? Nothing. You couldn't name one thing."

She mumbled something inaudible. "What was that? I can't hear you over all of your CRYING," he yelled, his tone resembling impatience. Hermione tried to gain control of her lungs and took six deep breaths to calm herself. She rested her forehead against the carpet and whispered a response. "You."

"What the hell are you talking about!!"

"YOU ASKED ME A QUESTION. Are you stupid? Do you need me to BARK IT AT YOU?"

Draco turned away from her abruptly and put both hands on top of his head. His elbows went out to points on either side, making the shape of a large eye. He let out a low growl and turned back around just as quickly. Through gritted teeth, he said, "What I meant was, _elaborate_. Tell me what the fuck you mean by 'you'." Hermione sat back on her knees and crossed her arms, not taking her eyes off the floor the entire time.

"Hmm??" Draco moaned intensely.

She huffed out a half-laugh and then spoke in a near whisper, "I don't want to leave _you_."

"Bullshit. What are you playing at?"

"You are so thick sometimes! I have _nothing_ left." She wiped a tear off her cheek with her wrist. "I lost _everything_. You just pop in, buy me from some rotten old place and all of the sudden things start to get better. Nice house, a blanket and some pillows, food that doesn't appear to already have been digested, and wow, turns out you're not as bad as I'd thought. As much as it pains me to say, I actually _like_ you."

Draco slumped down onto the floor without looking at her and denied everything. "No," was all he could manage to say. He kept shaking his head in silence, trying to solidify the 'falseness' of what she just said. Hermione sniffled and said, "Can I please stay?"

He looked up into her puffy red eyes, "you can't."

**A/N:** A little better? Maybe? Kind of?


End file.
